The Elven Lord's Concubine: Volume Three

The Elven Lord’s Concubine VOLUME THREE ESRYIAN TALES BOOK THREE LEONA SURE Contents Prologue 1. The Fantasy 2. The Sentiments 3. The Masks 4. The Ancestor 5. The Esolin of Ishvalier 6. The Act of Mercy 7. The Storm 8. The Fairy Tale 9. The Anticlimax 10. The Mother 11. The Descendants 12. The Fish, the Bear, and the Heir 13. The Unpleasant Thing 14. The Control 15. The Terrible Thing 16. The Necessary Things 17. The Father 18. The Will of the Gods Epilogue Coming Soon Available Now About the Author Glossary Prologue 700 years earlier. The Esolina of Virashindel smelled of honeyed wine and sweat as she pushed her hand into Isael’s pants. She drew in a breath as she grasped him, retracting her tongue from his mouth. Had she hiked her skirts up he might have taken her. He was deep in the cup as well, having had enough wine to dull his mind—no small feat. Isael had to drink several full cups of wine in quick succession to feel intoxicated. However, the greatest challenge was overcoming his aversion to drinking or consuming any substance that curbed his judgment. The distaste was largely innate, but it had been ingrained by growing up with uncles that were consummate drunks. It had been fully cemented by his time in the army, as he’d watched men saturate themselves with liquid courage, only to stumble to their deaths on the battlefield. Isael had never needed external courage to fight. Fear had accompanied him to his first battle, where it had been slain as easily as the many bodies he’d left in his wake. It had taken only one battle for him to understand not only the extent of his power but also where he stood in relation to other elves. But if there was ever a night for drunken celebration, it was the evening of his anointment feast. The ceremony would come tomorrow, but it was nothing more than going through the motions of tradition. His father had named him heir to Ishvalier more than a week earlier. With a scratching of ink on vellum and a seal of silver, Isael had born witness to the culmination of his efforts. Everything he’d ever done had led to that glorious moment. The moment his father finally acknowledged that he was worthy. No, better. Better than his uncles. Better than his cousins. Better than Erael. “Do you know what to do with that?” Isael asked, taking Ashula’s wrist. She hadn’t hiked up her skirts, but instead had begun to tug awkwardly at him. Given who her husband was, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was her first time touching a man who was hard for her. “I am no blushing virgin.” Her words were belied by the flush in her cheeks. She was no virgin, but that was part of the appeal. Isael had never understood why Ishvalindic men placed such value on a woman’s chastity. He assumed it was because they desired only young and ignorant women in their beds. A virgin had no frame of reference for what she was lacking. But Ashula did, and it was why he wanted her. Her husband Daneas likely assumed Isael would be drawn to her lowland looks. It was no secret that he was fond of dark-haired women with sun kissed skin and willowy limbs. They were a departure from what he was accustomed to, both in their appearances, but in their scents. It was not only her husband that had ordered her to seduce Isael, but his own brother as well. Erael likely believed she would appeal to him because of his fondness for conquest. What greater conquest was there than having another man’s wife come eagerly to one’s bed, desperate for satisfaction her husband could not provide? Satisfaction… He pulled back, leaving Ashula to slump against the wall. “You enjoyed our dance?” He asked, as he tied the strings of his pants. Ashula blinked at him. “Dance? Oh, yes, it was lovely. Like the wind itself was carrying me.” Erael told her to say that. It was probably what he’d whispered into Ashula’s ear before she’d come sauntering his way, begging him to favor her with a dance. Daneas had been slow to play his part, the Gerodian liquor having softened his mind. He’d waved his hands in the air and slurred an encouraging sentiment. “You flatter me,” he said. “We could dance again,” she suggested, while casting a meaningful look toward the royal chambers. “Somewhere private.” Subtle, she was not. Unfortunately for her, Daneas, and Erael, the spell was already broken. “Perhaps another time.” He reached over to right one of the butterfly pins in her braids. She followed the gesture with her eyes, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “We should get back to the hall,” he said, before turning away. Ashula was quick to follow him, her heel slippers clacking loudly on the marble floors of the corridor. “Mir solin,” she said, as she trotted to his side. “You need not address me as such,” he reminded her. “You are esolina now. Or have you forgotten your recent marriage?” She had the grace to look abashed, but her face quickly hardened with her determination. “How could I possibly forget my marriage? A woman does not forget such a day as her wedding. The dresses, the festivities, going to bed with a husband more eager to talk of his squire than do his duty to give his people an heir.” Isael grinned. “And here I assumed he’d spent the night waxing poetic about my brother.” The remark earned him a genuine bark of laughter. From behind her hand she said, “He did quite a bit of that, too.” “I don’t doubt it. At times, I wonder if Daneas has usurped me in my brother’s affections.” Ashula cleared her throat. “You don’t think… Does Erael share in Daneas’s affliction?” At that moment, he lost a measure of respect